


Sweet and Considerate

by Already Restless (dontkeepmehere)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tomione Smut Fest 2018, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 02:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16031408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontkeepmehere/pseuds/Already%20Restless
Summary: Harry's drunken celebrations mean that Tom is left with a random assortment of his brother's friends sleeping in his flat. Which would be fine. Except one of them was Hermione Granger, and she was in Tom's bed.





	Sweet and Considerate

**Author's Note:**

> I selected Chose Not to Warn for this fic as it could technically be considered underage. Hermione is 16, which makes her a few months short of the Wizarding age of majority, so while Muggle UK law considers her past the age of consent she's still technically a minor. Tom is 18. Please consider this your appropriate and nuanced warning in lieu of the Archive tags.

When Tom unlocked his door he was greeted by the sound of heated, and slightly drunken, conversation coming from the living room. He followed the noise to find Harry sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by his school friends. The coffee table was littered with empty glasses, crisp packets, and a bottle of Old Ogden’s that Tom strongly suspected had been stolen from him in his absence.

“What’s the occasion?” Tom asked, causing the teenagers to start and stare at him with varying expressions of guilt.

“OWL results!” Harry exclaimed.

“How could I forget?” Tom said drily.  “What were your scores?”

Harry rootled around in his pockets for the scrap of parchment, finally retrieving it with a triumphant flourish. He attempted to stand so that he could pass the parchment to Tom but he only succeeded in stumbling and falling back onto the cushion he’d been lounging on. Tom took pity on him and summoned the slip from his hands.

“These are good, but they’re not good enough to justify drinking all of my fire whiskey.”

“‘ere’s sum left,” Ron slurred, swirling the liquid around the bottom of the bottle.

“And that was for Hermione,” Harry defended.

“Explain.”

“She got all O’s!”

“Eleven of ‘em,” Seamus said.

“Well, that is worth celebrating,” Tom said, smiling down at Hermione who was blushing furiously. “Which subject did you drop?”

“Divination, it’s all bollocks. Plus predicting Harry’s imminent demise gets boring after a while.”

“That happened a lot?”

“Every bloody week,” Ron groaned.

“You didn’t tell me about this,” Tom said to Harry.

Harry just shrugged, saying nothing. Tom wanted to press him, but as he had no desire to have a discussion which would surely devolve into a one-sided shouting match in front of all of Harry’s friends he refrained. Instead he changed the topic.

“Since I don’t want to be accused of contributing to the delinquency of several minors you all need to go to bed.”

“Tom –“ Harry began.

“No, Harry. What do you suppose would happen if your social worker could see you now?”

“‘Reckon if Mrs Cole was here we’d have bigger problems than underage drinking,” Harry said. “Plus ‘Mione would handle it.”

“How?” Tom asked, amused by the endless optimism of the mildly pissed.

“Memory charms are her speciality.”

“Your plan is to leave your best friend to face the Wizengamot for underage magic and compromising the statue of secrecy? I’d rather send you back to Wool’s.”

“Tom,” Harry whined, and Tom immediately relented. He hadn’t spent endless hours filling in Muggle paperwork, jumping through hoops, and generally waging war against tedious bureaucracy only to lose his adopted brother back to the Children’s Home they’d grown up in.

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Tom acknowledged. “But you do need to go to sleep.”

“We’re trying!”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were drinking my fire whiskey in my living room. I was mistaken?”

“Yes! Well, um, no, because we –“

“We were arguing about sleeping arrangements before you came in,” Hermione said, cutting off Harry’s incoherent ramblings. “Apparently Harry’s too chivalrous to let me sleep on the floor.”

“Of course I am!”

“If you take the bed both you and Ron can fit.”

“Well then you and Ron take it.”

“I’m not sharing with Ron, Harry! I’m not sharing with any of you.”

“Come on, ‘Mione. You know we’d never try anything.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Well then we’ll both sleep on the floor.”

“That’s just stupid.”

“Hermione –“

“That is enough,” Tom said, his voice firm and commanding. “Harry, Ron, you will share Harry’s bed; Seamus, you will sleep on the air bed in Harry’s room; we will leave Dean in his present state of unconsciousness,” he paused to smirk at Dean who was sprawled on the sofa, snoring fitfully. “And Hermione, you may have my bed. Go. Now.”

No one dared argue with Tom when he spoke like that. That tone made grown men tremble; four teenagers could offer no resistance. He watch them move, happy to see his orders obeyed unquestioningly. After the room had emptied out Tom began to tidy up, incinerating the empty food packets and banishing the dirty glasses to the kitchen sink. He stooped down and scooped up the bottle of fire whiskey examining it briefly. It hadn’t been full when they’d gotten to it, and it still wasn’t empty. That amount of alcohol, shared between five teenagers, was not too worrisome. He placed the bottle back in its cupboard and resolved not to think any more of it. His rather loose concept of morality did not include the condemnation of underage drinking, he only cared as far as it affected Harry. The boy seemed fine, and Tom was not one to worry unduly.

Tom headed to the bathroom, pleased to see Harry’s friends had already vacated it. Ordinarily he would wash his face, clean his teeth and head straight to bed. However, tonight he decided to have a shower to clear his head.

 _She’d_ been there.

Of course she’d been there. She went pretty much everywhere with Harry; the three of them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, had been virtually inseparable this summer, celebrating Harry’s freedom from Wool’s by spending as much time together as possible. _“We’ve got four summers to make up for,”_ Harry had said. Tom was mostly glad for it.

Except Hermione disrupted his composure. It had started when she’d been made Gryffindor prefect and the witch had made it her life’s mission to make him miserable. At Prefect’s Meetings she’d suggest improvements to his carefully constructed schedules, on rounds she’d make him talk about _moral relativism_ and the merits of Nietzsche versus Sartre, and then there had been the Yule ball.

She’d gone with Harry, and half the school had spent the evening staring at the pair. She’d looked truly stunning, and that dress. It had been cut low, and the flowing fabric had concealed a tight corset which had made her meagre breasts look more than ample. He’d danced one waltz with her and every time he’d looked down at her face he’d been confronted by her cleavage, looking beautifully soft and enticing.

Tom let out a soft groan and moved his hand to his dick. Just thinking of her in that dress made him hard. He stroked himself slowly, relishing in the feeling of the slow wank in the shower. He shuffled through his mental images of Hermione, switching from his memories of her at the Yule Ball to an image of her in her summer uniform. She was on her knees in the dungeons – a memory repurposed from the time they’d cleaned out supply shelves as a favour for Slughorn – and she’d looked up at him with such wide and innocent eyes. He imagined yanking her forward by her hair, thrusting into her sweet little mouth, feeling her moan around his cock.   

He began to stroke himself more quickly, falling into his usual patterns. This was not the first time he’d wanked to thoughts of Hermione, and he doubted it would be the last.  She was all he thought of. He’d fucked a couple of girls, Slytherin witches who were easily seduced by the power he exuded, but he found that his fantasies of Granger far surpassed his memories of them.

And now she was in his bed.

The thought made Tom groan again and grip himself more tightly. Fuck, the things he’d like to do to her in that bed. It had a sturdy wooden frame, with short pillars at each corner. He would bind her spread eagled and kiss every inch of her, dipping into her soft cunt and lapping until she came apart, writhing in her bonds. Then he’d fuck her hard and fast into the mattress, watching her beneath him, the feel of her cunt fluttering around his –

His hips stuttered and tensed before Tom came over his hand. The hot water of the shower immediately washed his cum away, the viscous liquid swirling away down the drain. Tom reached for the soap with a sigh, as wonderful as his fantasies were he would never allow them to become reality. 

When he finished his shower Tom wrapped a towel around his waist and, gathering his discarded clothes, went to his bedroom. He knocked softly on the door before entering and was unsurprised not to receive an answer, he suspected Hermione had already fallen asleep. He opened the door and seeing her still and silent form lay on the bed proceeded inside. Navigating in the low light he tossed his clothes into the laundry hamper and headed to his chest of drawers to retrieve a pair of flannel trousers and a t-shirt. He dropped his towel and pulled on his trousers, he was about to shrug on his shirt when he was interrupted.

“Where are you going to sleep?” Hermione asked. She was lay on her side in the bed, her head propped up on her elbow, watching him.

“Hermione, I thought you were sleeping.”

She laughed softly, “no such luck.”

“Go to sleep,” he said firmly, but without the hardness that filled his voice when he issued inviolable commands.

“I can’t, I have awful insomnia. Would you like your bed back?” Tom just looked at her perplexed. She shifted slightly, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She twisted a curl between her fingers looking down at her hands.  “Someone should sleep in it, right?”

“If I said yes what would you do?”

“If you kicked me out of bed? Find somewhere to read. Kitchen maybe.”

Tom shook his head. “You can read in bed.”

“Where are you going to sleep?” She asked again.

“I’m going to transfigure the arm chair into a bed.”

“You’re going to sleep in the living room with Dean?”

“Yes.”

“You heard his snoring?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just willingly subjecting yourself to that sure torment?”

“Yes,” Tom gritted out. He did not want to tell her that he would always choose Dean’s snoring over the torment of watching her in his bed and being completely unable to feel her, or kiss her, or fuck her.

Hermione reached out and grabbed the side of the duvet, lifting it up invitingly. “Come here.”

“Hermione,” Tom warned.

“Come here, Tom,” she said smiling sweetly at him. “If you’re really uncomfortable we can just sleep.”

“I thought you couldn’t sleep,” Tom said, walking over to the bed. She had to angle her head to look up at him, and it was almost like his fantasy. Hermione on her knees had been virginal and scared, Hermione in bed was alluring and inviting.

“I’d try to, if it would get you into bed.”

“Really?”

“My theory is that once I get you into bed I’ll be able to dissuade you from actually sleeping.”

“I’m not that easy to manipulate.”

“How about this: you get into bed and I’ll do whatever you tell me to do?”

Tom didn’t respond, but he reached out and took the lifted edge of the duvet from Hermione’s grip, sliding into the bed. He stayed very clearly on his side of the bed, not touching her at all. She watched him closely in the dim light from the streetlamps. They lay on their sides, not touching, looking each other in the eyes.

After a while Hermione whispered, “Can I ask you a question?” At his slight nod she continued, “Is it – is it an ethical thing? Because I’m technically underage?”

Tom let out a breathy exhale that sounded a little like a laugh. “No.”

“Oh, so you’re just not – yeah of course, you’re not, I’m sorry, just Harry said and I thought –“ She blustered, looking away from Tom and rolling onto her back.

“What did Harry say?” Tom asked sharply, not looking away from her.

“He said – well, no he _implied_ that you were attracted to me – I shouldn’t’ve assumed, but –“

“It’s a Harry thing,” Tom cut in, mentally berating himself for sounding like a witless teenager. “I mean, it’s not because you’re underage, or because I don’t want to, it’s because you’re Harry’s friend.”

“Oh.” She was quiet for a while, still staring up at the ceiling. “Have you considered that what Harry doesn’t know can’t hurt him?”

Tom half laughed again, “He’d find out.”

Hermione rolled towards him again and reached out a hand to brush Tom’s curls away from his forehead. “He’s not very observant,” she whispered, twisting her hand into the hair at the crown of Tom’s head. “It’s only one night.” She used her grip in Tom’s hair to pull him closer, so that their lips were almost touching. “One night, I’ll do anything you tell me to.”

Tom cut her off pressing his lips against hers roughly, kissing her the way he had always wanted to. Fuck the consequences, he’d deal with them in the morning. Right now, Hermione was in his bed, propositioning him, promising to do exactly what he wanted.

He pulled away from her. “Head?” he asked, catching his breath. “Have you ever –?”

Hermione didn’t answer, but ducked her head moving down the bed under the duvet. He had actually meant for him to go down on her, he wanted to watch her come. He felt Hermione shifting and spread his legs, creating a space between them for her to settle. Watching the odd movement of the duvet as she shifted beneath it was strangely disconcerting, so Tom grabbed the duvet and pushed it back so that it settled in a tangled mess at the foot of the bed.

She smiled at him, knelt between his slightly spread legs free of the confines of the blanket, with hooded eyes. She was wearing a baggy T-shirt and panties. “Thanks,” she said softly, before bending down, pressing her face against the inside of his thigh. She brought her hand up to stroke him through his pyjamas. He was hard again, and she traced the line of his prick with soft and curious fingers. It made his dick twitch. He’d come only a few minutes ago, but he was an eighteen-year-old with the object of all his fantasies knelt between his knees. Refractory periods were not going to be an issue.

“Fuck,” he whispered. The witch laughed.

“Help me take your trousers off,” she said, grabbing his trousers and wiggling them down his hips. He lifted his arse to make it easier.

“Bossy witch. I thought I was giving the orders here.”

She huffed, “that’s what I want, but you’re being extremely recalcitrant.”

“Suck it,” he said, trying to make his tone commanding. “Just the tip”

She obeyed, sucking the tip of his cock into his mouth. She ran her tongue against his frenulum, before swirling it upwards, tracing it up his glans, briefly pressing against his opening before pulling away.

“Lick it. The whole length.”

Hermione began by licking his head again, before shifting slightly to lick his length, tracing a line from the head to the base before returning to the top again. She repeated the action, but instead of stopping at the base of his cock she continued downwards, laving his balls, and swiping across his perineum before retracing her path. When she got back to his head she licked it greedily, tonguing his slit and tasting the pre-come there.

“Fuck.”  

She laughed softly, evidently enjoying his reactions. “Your instructions were imprecise,” she said, pumping him slowly as she talked. “I thought I’d be thorough.”

“Insolent witch.” He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, trying to gather his thoughts enough to decide what to do next. He was not normally like this, he was tightly controlled, decisive, certain. But this was Hermione, who could always make him lose it. Finally, he settled on a command. Gripping her curls, he guided her head back to his cock, ordering, “Impress me.”

Hermione did as instructed, seemingly happy to be given free reign to suck him however she liked. She took advantage of the freedom, sucking and licking and stroking. She never kept up the same action for long, as though she was too curious and wanted to try it all. It was erotic. She seemed to enjoy it so goddamn much. Every time she pulled off his cock she smiled, every time he twitch she moaned. The lack of a settled rhythm made it hard for him to get close. Everything felt amazing, but the frequent stopping, starting, and changing, meant he probably wasn’t going to come from this. He didn’t care. She was worshipping his cock, and the visual was hot enough that he couldn’t care about anything else.  

Eventually, and reluctantly, he pulled her away from him. She wiped at her mouth and smirked at him.

“How’d I do?” She asked teasingly.

“O’s,” he said, sitting up against the headboard and pulling her into his lap so that he could kiss her. He groaned against her mouth, the taste was unbelievable. “O’s across the board.”

“What now?”

He pressed his fingers against the damp spot of her underwear.

“Are you a virgin, Hermione?”

Her breath caught. “No.”

“Who?” He asked, pushing her panties to the side and swiping his fingers through her wetness.

“Neville.”

“Longbottom?” His tone was coloured by incredulity and distaste.

She prickled. “He was very sweet and considerate.”

“I’m not.”

“I know.” Hermione paused, it was unclear whether she was thinking or whether she was just distracted by the slow circles he was drawing around her clit. “That’s pretty much why I fucked Neville.”

“Explain,” Tom ordered, before ducking his head to Hermione’s neck, sucking with an intensity that was intended to leave a mark.

“I was having all these – these dreams, and I thought maybe, I don’t know, I guess that I should try some stuff before I – before I tried to act on them. Plus, Green said you don’t like virgins.”

“Green?”

“Marla Green. From Slytherin. Sixth year. Your ex.”

“Not my ex,” Tom corrected.

“That’s not what she said,” Hermione broke off, gasping at the feeling of Tom’s lips on her throat and the soft but firm pressure on her clit. She was getting close, and it was getting harder and harder to talk. “She – she – she said I was staring, and that – that you were – were hers and you’d never – never, ah fuck, ah – never want me when she had so much experience.”

Tom smirked, revelling in her reactions. “I didn’t fuck Green because she was experienced.”

“Oh?” Hermione said, unable to think or say anything more articulate.

“No,” Tom said, his teeth close and sharp against Hermione’s neck. “I fucked her because she was easy.”

Hermione gasped, twitching in his arms. “Please. Please, Tom. I’m so close.”

“What do you need, Hermione?”

“Talk. Please – I want –“

“I know just what you want, Hermione,” Tom said, slowly increasing the speed of his strokes on her engorged little clit, bringing her closer and closer to orgasm. “You want me, don’t you? You’ve wanted me for so long. Going out and fucking someone else, just hoping that if you did I might want you. You should’ve come to me, I can give you what you want, what you need.”

“I – I was scared –“ She broke off with a breathy whimper.

“Mm, you wanted someone sweet and considerate. But that’s not what you really want is it, Hermione?” When she didn’t answer he asked again more sharply. “Is it?”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

“More specific,” Tom said, changing his strokes, chasing her towards her orgasm.

“I – I want you – want you to tell me what to do – and, and I wanna do it. I want to please you. I want you to want me.”

“I do want you, Hermione. I want everything you want, and we can have it all. But right now, darling, I want you to come. I want you to come on my hand like the desperate, needy, little witch you are. I wanna see you fucking break –“

She shuddered and moaned, tensing as her orgasm crashed through her. When it had passed, she slumped against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, slipping one under her t-shirt to stroke the bare skin of her lower back. She shuffled closer to him, inhaling deeply. He held her as she came down from her orgasm, using the time to consider what he wanted, what to do.

This was a colossally stupid idea. Ordinarily he’d ignore the fall out of whatever he chose to do; he achieved his goals and watched others deal with the collateral damage with cool indifference.  But this was going to hurt Harry, or Hermione, or, potentially, both. _Fuck_. He absolutely could not hurt Harry. He might have already hurt him. Despite what Hermione said he was certain that Harry would find out, and then he would be royally pissed. At Tom. Despite the fact that this whole mess was Hermione’s fault.  Mostly her fault, at least. _Fuck_.

 _One Night_. She’d said _it’s only one night_. He couldn’t decide if that would make it better or worse as far as Harry was concerned. And he definitely could not decide whether one night would be enough for him.

“You actually are sort of sweet, you know.” Hermione’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“I’m thinking.”

She hummed against his neck, and then shifted in his lap, pressing against his erection as she did so. “Do you want me to leave you to think?” Tom didn’t say anything. “Or do you want me to distract you?” He still didn’t move. “Because if I only get one night with you I’d really like the full experience.”

“The full experience?”

Hermione hummed again, “I don’t actually want sweet and considerate, Tom.”

He shifted, pushing lightly on her shoulder so that she moved further away from his chest. He met her eye. “Not sweet and considerate?”

“No, I, well I was expecting more fast and violent.”

“Fast and violent?” Tom repeated cooly, before rapidly flipping them over so she was lain beneath him, his arms caging her head.

“Please,” she whispered, her eyes dipping closed.

“It would be my pleasure.”


End file.
